by Tami Hoag
Her gaze drifted down from the mischief in his eyes to the muscles of his shoulders and chest. He was beautifully sculpted, perfectly proportioned, his tan skin dusted with a scattering of golden hair. She splayed the fingers of one hand over his breastbone and felt the strong pulsing of his heart.
“And where’s my place?” she asked breathlessly, lifting her eyes to meet his again.
“Beneath me,” he murmured, lowering himself to kiss her. “Around me, tight, hot.”
“Oh, my,” Dixie whispered as he pressed himself intimately against her. A low groan escaped her at the delicious sensation of his weight settling over her and at the erotic feel of his maleness straining against her. Already she could imagine the way he would feel inside her—full and throbbing deep within her.
“Oh, my, yes,” she whispered, stroking her hands down his back and lifting her hips to meet his.
“I want you, Dixie,” Jake growled against her throat. “I’ve wanted you from the first.”
“You’ve got me, sugar,” she murmured seductively, tracing a fingernail down the back of his neck. “Make the most of it.”
The last tiny shred of sanity slipped from Jake’s grasp. His original mission was entirely forgotten. All he could think of now was Dixie. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her or the feel of her soft curves pressing into the hard contours of his body. As with every other time he had gotten too close to her, the electric essence of what made her Dixie completely wiped out his brain’s capacity to reason. There was no logic in this, only heat and magic and a desire that seared the very core of him. The attraction that had hummed between them from the first overpowered everything else.
He dragged his mouth from hers and moved downward, murmuring his pleasure as she arched her neck for him. He nibbled kisses along the ivory column, tracing the way first with his fingertips. He lingered at the hollow at the base of her throat, drawing the tip of his tongue over the V of her collarbone and dipping into the shallow well above it. He could feel her pulse there, throbbing, racing, pounding as wildly as his own.
He slid his hand down her robe over her breast. The silk was cool and smooth beneath his palm, the globe beneath it full and ripe. Her nipple hardened to a bead and she gasped as he rubbed the silk fabric over it. Slowly he bent his head and pressed his tongue against the raised pebble of flesh, wringing another gasp from her. He wet the fabric, then blew gently on it. Dixie shuddered beneath him.
Raising up on one arm, he traced the tips of his fingers over the robe to the sash that belted it. With excruciating slowness he untied the wide ribbon until the two sides of the garment slid apart several inches, revealing her nakedness.
Jake trailed a forefinger along her ribs, which rose and fell with each shallow breath. With that same finger he drew the left side of the robe away from her, unveiling more of her body.
She was everything a woman was meant to be. All creamy skin and soft womanly contours. Amber light and shadows emphasized the planes and hollows and slopes. The curve of her hip was a graceful flare, indenting at her small waist. Her breast was large, round and heavy, swollen. Its peak pouted for his attention, the large areola a perfect circle of dusky brown. And below, where her breast met her rib cage, was a—
Jake’s heart jolted as his gaze fastened intently on the small tattoo. It wouldn’t have been noticeable had she not been on her back; the plumpness of her breast would have hidden it. But there it was—a tiny butterfly. The detail was impeccable, the colors exquisite—saffron and sapphire and fuchsia and emerald.
It was beautiful. It was unique. It was Devon Stafford’s. There was no doubt in his mind. The subtle suspicions and hunches rushed to the surface of his mind like air bubbled from the murky depths of his subconscious. The sea star necklace, the lily-of-the-valley perfume, the odd way she held a pen, the angular look of her face as they’d stood in the shadow of the gas pumps at Eldon’s. Understanding is such a rare quality in a man. That was a line right out of Full Moon Fever. She’d used it on him the night they’d met. She’d dazed him with it and with the power of her charm. Now the tattoo. It was irrefutable evidence.
Dixie. His curvy down-home Dixie was Devon Stafford, runaway glamour girl, sex symbol of the decade.
He looked at her now, at the cropped-off brown curls and the soft fullness of her face. She was watching him with her big hazel eyes full of expectation and uncertainty. She didn’t look anything like the woman who had taken Hollywood by storm. Gone were the long silver-blond locks, the slender body of the health club goddess. The vibrant, emerald green eyes? Contact lenses, of course. The sultry exaggerated pout? Probably collagen injections that had long since worn off. The idol had vanished. All this time she’d been hiding in plain sight, disguised as her real self.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the tremor in her voice betraying her fear that he found her lacking.
“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing.”
Nothing except that he’d been a fool. He’d done exactly what Dixie had accused him of more than once—judged by appearances. She didn’t look like the woman on the screen, so he had discounted the clues and ignored his hunches. What he had failed to remember was that the woman on the big screen didn’t really exist. Devon Stafford was a creation of Hollywood and they weren’t in Hollywood anymore.
A hundred thoughts whirled through his head. Theories, questions—oh, the questions! Why had she left? What had gone wrong? Who was the friend she had lost? But he shut them all out as Dixie raised herself up on her elbows and looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Jake?” she asked, her voice as thin as a thread. “Don’t you…don’t you want me?”
His heart melted at her question and her expression. It didn’t matter who she had been. Right now she was a woman doubting herself. She was vulnerable and sweet and he was falling in love with her. Falling in love—not with Devon Stafford, the ideal woman, but with Dixie La Fontaine, sweet uncertain Dixie with the big heart and the shadows in her eyes.
“I want you more than I want air,” he said, and it was the truth. His body ached to join hers. “I want you so bad it hurts.”
“Then let’s do something about it.”
Dixie sat up slowly, pushing Jake back onto his haunches. Her robe slid down off one shoulder. She ignored it, her attention riveted on him.
For a minute there she’d been terrified she’d lost him, just as sure as if he’d fallen off the roof. Insecurities had clogged her throat and flooded her eyes. She liked herself just fine the way she was—full-bodied, curvy—but Jake was a perfectionist and his idea of feminine perfection was a blond wraith, a rail-thin creature with tumbling long hair and pouting lips, a woman who no longer existed in the real world.
For just a second she’d almost wished herself…no. She couldn’t be Devon Stafford again, not for Jake, not for anybody. She was Dixie La Fontaine and Jake Gannon would have to love her as she was or not at all.
He muttered a few words in a tone of adoration that broke through her misgivings. He raised his hands to cup her breasts, to lift them and knead them with his long strong fingers. He leaned down to bury his face between them as he rubbed her nipples with his thumbs. A shower of sensual sparks rained through her, drowning her in feeling and desire.
When he sat back again she leaned forward to kiss his chest. She pressed her lips to the skin above his heart, drinking in the warm taste of him. She let her hands roam over him, memorizing each line and slope of muscle. She teased his flat brown nipples the way he had hers, then flicked her tongue across each tight nub, chuckling wickedly at the shudder that passed through his big body.
Hungrily she watched the shiver that rippled the washboard surface of his stomach and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans, and she trailed the fingers of one hand after it, as if she might be able to find it again and capture it. Jake sucked in a breath as she dipped two fingers inside his pants and deftly popped the metal button from its mooring. She eased the zipper do
wn one inch at a time, the sound of it seeming loud enough to fill the room. The denim parted, revealing snow white briefs that strained to contain him. Dixie cupped her hand gently over the end of his shaft, and Jake groaned and swore and struggled for air.
He rocked away from her and twisted off the bed. The jeans and briefs came off in one big knot that was flung aside. He turned back toward her, naked and magnificent, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
“Now let’s talk about putting things in their proper places,” he said with silky, sexy menace, drawing an excited giggle from Dixie.
He pounced back onto the bed and Dixie squealed and laughed and squirmed as he lowered his body over hers and pressed her into the mattress. She gasped and moaned as he slid down her body, pressing his belly against her feminine mound, catching the thrusting peak of her breast in his mouth.
He sucked at her hungrily, greedily, one breast, then the other, tormenting her nipples with his lips and his tongue as his hand moved to torment her elsewhere. Shifting his weight to the side, he slid his fingers through the nest of dark curls covering her femininity and probed the warm cleft between her thighs. She raised her hips off the bed in invitation, but he only teased her, touching, stroking, never satisfying, yet stoking the fire that burned within her until she thought it would consume her in one wild burst of flame. All the while his mouth tugged at her breast, sending shock waves of pleasure shooting through her to twist into the core of her desire.
She begged him shamelessly, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. He seemed bent on driving her stark raving mad. She could feel herself rushing toward that precipice and would have gratefully hurled herself off, but he pulled away at the last second and her sanity came to a screeching halt.
He kneeled between her thighs, watching her face, his own expression taut with desire.
“I hate to bring this up now,” he said, panting for air. “But I’m afraid I’m not exactly fully prepared.”
“You look fine to me, honey,” Dixie said with a heartfelt groan, eating him up with her eyes. She reached out to stroke him, finding him as hard and smooth as marble, yet hot and pulsing.
“I meant protection-wise,” he said through his teeth.
“Oh. Oh, no.” She looked glum as she pulled her hand back. Then she brightened. “Wait. Wait,” she said, scrambling off the bed, her robe falling off her completely as she raced to the big cherry dresser along the wall.
She tried like mad to remember where she’d put the package. She was sure she’d brought it up here, unable to throw anything away but equally unable to face the embarrassment of having her cousin find it. She pulled open a drawer, flung a bra and a pair of pantyhose over her shoulder, then squealed with delight as she came up with her prize.
“You found the Holy Grail?” Jake asked, propping himself against the mountain of frilly pillows along the ornate brass headboard of the bed.
“A million times better,” Dixie said, hopping onto the mattress. She snuggled up to him and dangled an envelope in front of him. “Free samples. They came in the mail.”
Jake examined the contents of the envelope as Dixie set herself to the task of exploring his body with her hands and mouth.
“‘At last protection can be playful and fun,’” he read aloud. “‘Perky bright colors and patterns add a zany touch to practicality.’”
“Jake, honey,” Dixie said, nibbling his belly. “I mean for you to use them, not read them. You’re breaking the mood here, sugar.”
“I doubt much of anything could break the mood quite like a candy-striped condom,” he said dryly, then Dixie dropped her head a little lower and his whole body went as tight as a bowstring. “On the other hand, I’m always willing to try new things.”
Dixie stretched a leg over the edge of the bed and yanked the cord of the lamp out of the socket with her toes. Jake pulled her up into his embrace and rolled her beneath him, tangling them both in the sheets.
He eased into the heat of her slowly, savoring the union and fighting for control all at once.
Dixie sighed at the exquisite sense of being filled with him. Again she lifted her hips in invitation, accepting all he had to give her, taking him deep and hanging on for dear life.
She’d never wanted anything as badly as she wanted Jake Gannon to love her—with his body, with his heart. It had all happened so fast it had made her head spin, but there was no denying it. She was falling in love with him and nothing had ever seemed as right as this. And Lord have mercy, nothing had ever felt as good!
The passion exploded around them like a cloud-burst, sweeping away all thought and all control. Jake drove into her, the elemental need to brand her as his own driving him beyond finesse and self-discipline. He was dimly aware that this was the first time he’d ever lost all restraint with a woman and that awareness left him with a feeling of awe and wonder. But those sensations were overrun by others—Dixie, hot and tight around him; Dixie with tears in her eyes as she’d wondered aloud if he wanted her. Wanted her? Hell, he wanted to consume her, he wanted to lose himself in her, never to be found again. She was sweet wild heaven beneath him, giving herself without reserve, taking him with unrestrained joy. She called out his name and cried out her pleasure and arched up against him for more.
Dixie met his every thrust, straining into him, her hands clutching at his back and hips. She felt free, jubilant, on the verge of bursting into a million brilliant shards. The attraction that had buzzed between them from the moment they first met had frightened her and she had fought against it, but now she gave herself over to it and the thrill of surrender was incredible.
The old brass bed rocked and thumped and banged against the wall, shuddering and creaking under the onslaught of desire unleashed. A lamp tipped over on the nightstand, knocking a stack of books to the floor. But the storm raged on, unabated. Jake groaned and gasped out urgent words, pleas, commands. Dixie answered him with a chant that rose to a window-shaking crescendo as he drove into her in one last powerful thrust. The explosion stole what was left of her breath and Dixie felt her consciousness dim as kaleidoscopic colors swirled in her head. She clung to Jake with arms and legs, anchoring herself to him as the world spun crazily around her.
Her moans of ecstasy ebbed, until she was merely panting. An incredible laziness stole through her body and she felt herself sink deeper into the mattress. She opened her eyes and smiled up at Jake.
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
He smiled a secretive lover’s smile. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
He leaned down to kiss her again, but a thumping on the ceiling brought him up short. He turned onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow and cast a curious look upward.
There was another series of thumps, followed by an angry female voice shouting down through the plaster. “Hold it down, for crying out loud! Some people are trying to sleep, you know.”
Dixie felt herself turning pink clear to her toes. She pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress an embarrassed giggle. Jake slanted her a look, raising one eyebrow.
“Dixie, honey,” he said calmly. “Who’s living in your attic?”
EIGHT
“YOU HAVE TO swear you won’t tell a soul. On your honor as a former Marine,” Dixie said solemnly. She scooted up and nestled against the mound of pillows, tugging the sheet with her and tucking it demurely under her arms. She looked at Jake expectantly.
He rolled his eyes. “Dixie—”
“I mean it, Jake. I was sworn to secrecy and already I’m in trouble. You have to swear.”
“Okay, I swear,” he said, sitting up beside her. He leaned over and righted the lamp on the bedside table and turned it on. A little puddle of amber light spilled down from under the ruffled shade, leaving most of the room in shadow. The faintest part of the light cast itself over Dixie’s sober features.
“On your honor?” she said.
Jake sighed. “On my honor. Now, are you going to tell me or do I have to run up there buck naked
and see for myself?”
Dixie gasped and pinched his belly. “Don’t you dare! If you think I’m sharing you, you can just think again, Jake Gannon. I know you’re from California where people are into all sorts of kinky stuff, but I don’t go in for that kind of thing. I’m an old-fashioned girl, mostly—”
“Dixie!” Jake laughed in exasperation. “Tell me. Now. Before I grow old and die. Who is living in your attic?”
She took a deep breath and sighed, resigning herself to telling the tale. “It’s my cousin Dee from Myrtle Beach. Delia La Fontaine. She’s hiding in my attic on account of her fiance, Tyler Holt.”
“Was he abusing her? Why didn’t she go to the police?”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. I mean, Tyler talks pretty tough sometimes, but he wouldn’t really hurt her. The thing is, Delia had this long, long blond hair and it was pretty enough on its own, but Tyler used to go on and on about how he wished it were more silvery and thick and wavy, how sexy it would be and how it would be just like—” She broke off and swallowed down the rest of that sentence, not caring to remind herself of her own unwitting role in the tragedy.
“Anyway, Dee got it into her head that she had to look whatever way Tyler thought was perfect, so she went on in to Miss Earlene’s College of Cosmetology and had her hair bleached and permed, and I don’t know if it was the combination of chemicals or what, but all her pretty blond hair just broke right off at the roots. Now she’s plumb scared to death to let Tyler see her for fear he’ll think she’s so ugly he’ll ask for his ring back.”
Jake’s broad shoulders began to shake as he struggled to keep his laughter locked in his chest. He tightened his lips and turned nearly purple, but lost the battle. As he brought a hand up to try to smother his chuckles, Dixie grabbed one of her trusty neck roll pillows and belted him with it.
“Don’t you dare laugh! This isn’t a bit funny. How would you like it if all your hair broke off?”